Dancing
by Seinaru Kibou no Tenshi
Summary: (*COMPLETE*) What do you do when you want to go to a dance, yet don't have the money to buy a dress? (Takari)
1. Dressing Up and Dressing Down

_Toei owns Digimon Adventure. I don't own Toei. You do the maths._

_Thanks as always to Wolfie and Arylwren for their betaing. You two deserve gold stars. _

_E-mail me if you want the whole translation of Yasashii Ame. I think it's a really beautiful and sensitive song myself. _

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DANCING

PART ONE OF FOUR

DRESSING UP AND DRESSING DOWN

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_Hageshii ame ja nakute ii kara_

_Oto wo tatete zutto furitsuzukete_

_Ookina watashi ni nareru you ni_

_Chikara wo kudasai. _

_Since the violent rain doesn't have to be good,_

_build up the sound, continue to rain for a long time, _

_then I will become used to my size -_

_please give me the strength. _

_~ Yasashii Ame (Hikari's 02 image song)_

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It had been love at first sight for Hikari. 

She had been going to work one cold, grey afternoon when she had caught sight of a flash of red across the hallway and had fallen madly and truly in love with it. It was a dress in the window of an exclusive boutique. Little more than a silk slip with a chiffon overdress, it had all the rich, deep redness of fine wine to it. From that day, she had lingered in front of the plate-glass window, admiring its colour and sheen, wondering if she could afford it, hoping no one else would buy it. 

She would never have screwed up the courage to go into the boutique and inquire about it, if it hadn't been for Miyako inviting her along on a shopping expedition. After trawling what had seemed like half the shops in Tokyo, they had ended up at this one. Now, she was sitting only metres away from it and wondering whether she dared to find out its price. 

Pretending a casualness she did not feel, she got up from her chair and strolled across the boutique to the display in the window. Up close, the dress was even more beautiful. She ran a fold of it through her fingers, relishing the slip of smooth chiffon against her skin. She noticed there was a little tag pinned to one of its sleeves, dangling facedown so that its price was concealed. She hesitated to turn it over and see how much her dress cost. She had worn it so many times in her daydreams that it would be hard to know she could never own it in real life. She told herself to stop being ridiculous, then picked up the price tag to look at it.

She let it fall again with a sigh. She would never be able to afford the dress, even if she scrimped and saved for months. She had been an idiot to let herself hope she might be able to buy it. Her salary barely covered her expenses, let alone a luxury like this. 

She turned away from it and walked back to her chair, deliberately ignoring her reflections in the mirrors that surrounded her. She knew all too well what she would see. Scuffed sneakers. Battered, blue jeans that would still have do another winter. The too bright, yellow T-shirt that was the photo studio's uniform. Takeru's red basketball jacket, stolen from his drawer that morning. In short, someone who did not belong in a fancy boutique. 

She could feel the eyes of the saleswoman upon her as she crossed the room and settled uneasily back into her seat. She didn't need to look at her to know the expression of mild distaste on her face. The clerk had been watching her from the moment she had entered the shop, asking her every few minutes if there was anything she wanted, hovering around the racks through which she was browsing. The longer she stayed in the shop, the more uncomfortable she felt. She wondered when Miyako was going to come out of the changing-rooms. It seemed like she had been in them for hours.

"Miyako, are you almost done?" she asked.

"Just doing up my zip and . . . Bingo!" 

The curtains of one of the changing-booths swished aside, and Miyako stepped out of it with a little, self-conscious twirl. She was wearing a sleek, sleeveless dress that shimmered around her with wintery beauty. It was cut out of silvery-blue silk, and had tiny rhinestones sewn into its neck that sparkled like frost. 

"So, what do you think?"

"It's perfect," she laughed, "All the guys will want to dance with you, and all the girls will hate you for it."

Miyako smiled in satisfaction. It wasn't hard for Hikari to guess the reason behind her smugness. Ichijouji Ken was going to be at the dance with his new girlfriend, and she intended to show him exactly what he was missing. 

She still didn't know why the two of them had ended their relationship. They had been together since junior high, with barely a fight or a cross word between them, and there had been talk about them getting engaged. One evening, however, Miyako had come to their apartment in tears and had sobbed that it was all over between her and Ken. Hikari had spent the rest of the night on the couch with her, eating ice cream and watching endless re-runs of old, romance movies.

"Well, you better get something equally pretty," she replied with a toss of her purple hair, "Because I know you don't want Takeru to end up dancing with me all night."

"No danger of that," Hikari smiled weakly at her. Ever since Miyako had invited her shopping, she had been dreading telling her that she wasn't going to the dance. They had had such a fight the last time, and she had only placated her friend by promising that she would be at the next one. And it would be so humiliating to tell her that she had nothing to wear and no money to buy a dress, because she was still repaying the instalments on the new digital camera that her lecturer had recommended she get. 

"Too true. I don't think your darling Takeru even realises there are other women on campus," Miyako laughed. Something in Hikari's expression must have betrayed her, however, because her friend continued in slower tones: "But you aren't going to the dance, are you?" 

Scuffing the floor with a sneaker, "I'm going to have to miss it." 

"Takaishi Hikari! You can't! Why?" 

"This isn't really the place to discuss it," she replied, seeing the saleswoman begin to rise from her chair and move towards them. She was probably afraid of a nasty scene putting off her other, richer customers, "I'll tell you over lunch. My treat?" 

"Whatever," Miyako raised her eyebrows sardonically, "But your reason had better be good, or else I'm holding you to that promise."

-------------------------

Clutching her handbag to her chest, Miyako looked around the little bistro for Hikari. She had told her to go ahead and get a table, while she took her new dress back to the car so it did not get wrinkled. She was just beginning to wonder whether her friend had left in order to avoid the inevitable argument, when she spotted her sitting at a corner table. Hikari was staring at a menu in front of her, and playing with the ring on her finger. A cup of coffee steamed gently in front of her. She seemed very tired and careworn with soft, dark smudges beneath her eyes and the overlarge jacket draped around her shoulders. 

Not for the first time, Miyako wondered if her friend was happy. When she had asked Hikari that question, her friend had laughed and replied that she wouldn't change a thing about her life. Was that the truth, however? She knew that Taichi and Yamato thought their siblings had married too young, and she agreed with them. Hikari was twenty-one and Takeru only twenty, and they had the sort of responsibilities with which people twice their age would have battled. In addition to studying full-time at Odaiba University, they were both working afternoons and evenings to pay the bills. And they refused to accept any help from their parents, because they wanted to prove that they weren't just playing at being married. (1)

"Miyako! I'm here!" she waved her hand. Raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement, Miyako crossed the room and took the seat opposite the younger woman at the table. Hikari smiled at her, then pushed the menu towards her. (2)

"I'm just going to have a sandwich myself, but you can have whatever you like. I'll pay."

"I'll order in it a bit, but a sandwich sounds good," Miyako laid the menu aside and looked at her friend, "But are you sure you're eating okay?"

"Ugh. You sound like my mother."

"It's just . . . ." 

"I might burn water, but Takeru knows how to cook," Hikari's voice was annoyed, and she was drumming her fingers on the table in front of her, "He's good at it too. He used to make dinner the whole time for himself and Ms Takaishi." 

Miyako held up her hands defensively, "Don't get mad at me. I was just being a friend."

"I'm sorry," she bowed her head, her long hair falling forward to hide her face. Her hand twisted the wedding ring around and around on her finger. It was a slim, silver band set with a tiny chip of rose-quartz. It was nothing like the rings about which they had fantasized on hot, summer afternoons when they had been girls. Those had always been pure gold and had white diamonds the size of their knuckles, "I'm just sick of people thinking that Takeru and I are silly kids who are playing at keeping house, like we used to do at kindergarten. I know our parents think we're going to stop finding it fun one day and get a divorce and go back to our normal lives. That isn't going to happen." 

"Even if you're unhappy?" 

"I'm not unhappy, Miyako," Hikari looked up at her with a puzzled expression, "Why would you think I was?" 

"You seem totally run-down," she replied honestly.

"I've been working extra hours at the photo studio," she pushed her hair out of her face with a hand, "I want to pay off my new camera as soon as possible, and my boss said he needed someone to cover things like weddings and parties. It'll only be for a few weeks more, then I'm going to sleep for a month at least."

"Is that why you can't make the dance? You could ask your boss to give you the evening off, you know."

"I wondered when you were going to bring that up," she laughed, "No, I'm not working that night."

"So, what's the problem?" she demanded, "You can't tell me Takeru doesn't want to go. I know he hates dances, but he'd walk across a bed of coals for you." 

"And might find it slightly less painful," Hikari made a face, but there was the soft, distant expression in her eyes that she always got when her husband was mentioned. Miyako felt a momentary twinge of jealousy.

As much as she tried to pretend that she was over Ken, she knew she wasn't. Her friends said she couldn't expect to get over a six-year relationship in six months, and she knew what they said was true, but it didn't make the pain any easier. It was hard to pass the restaurant where they had been on their first date, hard to look around her room and see all the reminders of him, hard to see him laughing with other girls on campus. Worst of all, however, was her lingering suspicion that she had never really loved him. She had enjoyed his company, she had thought him beautiful, she had wanted to marry him, but she had never loved him. 

Not wanting to think about it, she turned her attention back to what Hikari was saying, "It's not him. It really isn't. It's . . . I don't know why I'm so embarrassed about this . . . I don't have a dress to wear to it." 

"You don't need to buy a new gown," Miyako replied.

"I don't even have an old one," she laughed, "Unless you really think I could get away with wearing my wedding dress."

"I wish I had one to lend you, but . . . . I burnt them all. They reminded me too much of . . . of the past," she admitted, hating herself for being unable to say his name. She didn't know how she would get through the dance. He would be there with his new girlfriend, dancing with her, holding her close, stroking her hair . . . Miyako pushed the image firmly away from herself. She was just glad that Daisuke had agreed to take her and that she would not have to go alone. He had been a good friend to her after Ken dumped her. 

"It's fine, Miyako," she smiled at her, "Anyway, I probably should spend the evening in the dark room. I have an assignment due the morning after the dance."

"I really admire you," she said, "You're so brave." 

"What's there to be brave about?" Hikari pulled her coffee towards her, "It's a dance. There will be lots of them." 

"Yes, but will you get to go to them, though?" Miyako asked, "You haven't been to one since you got married, if I think about it. At Christmas, it was dinner with the Ishidas. For New Year, you were with Taichi and Sora. Then, you weren't at the Winter Ball because you were repainting your apartment and were too tired. And you missed the last one on Valentine's Day because Takeru had pulled a hamstring at basketball practice."

"You have a good memory," Hikari tore open a sachet of sugar and added it to her coffee. Her spoon clinked angrily against the side of the cup as she stirred it, "You should use it for classes, or tests, or something useful." 

"Don't be like that," she sighed, not wanting another fight with her friend, "I just know you love to dance, and I think it's a pity you don't get given the chance."

"Don't get given the chance?" she took a sip of her drink, looking at Miyako through the rising steam, "I missed those dances because there were more important things happening in my life. It was my choice. I barely see Yamato and Yuu or Taichi and Sora, except in the holidays, and they're my family. The apartment had to be painted before term started. I didn't want Takeru to limp around the dancefloor and destroy his chances of recovering that season, even though he said he'd take me." 

"And you can't afford to buy a dress for this one," Miyako finished for her, "I know you say you're happy, but don't you sometimes wish you hadn't gotten married? Life would be so much . . . " 

"Shut up!" Hikari slammed her coffee cup down in front of her. Hot, dark liquid splashed onto the tabletop, steam curling upwards from it. She stood, pushing the chair out behind her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright with anger, "I don't even want to hear it. I don't want to hear how much happier I would be, or how much richer I would be, or how much anything I would be!" 

She opened her purse and extracted a handful of coins, before dumping them on the table in front of her without counting them, "Buy what you want. I don't want to hear another word from you about me or my life or my marriage. I get it from everyone else. I don't need it from you." 

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, Hikari turned on her heel and marched out of the bistro.

"Hikari . . . Hikari . . . " Miyako called after her, but the younger woman carried on walking. She did not even pause or look behind her. Sinking backwards in her seat, "Crap, I've really screwed up this time." 

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TO BE CONTINUED

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NOTES: 

(1) When you're twenty (hatachi), you're considered an adult in Japan. I've heard you can get married at 16 there, but I'm hedging my bets. Anyway, I suspect it's like some US states' legislation that permits you to marry at 12! It's there in law, but it probably seldom happens. (I'm not making this up! In Massachussets, if you're female and have the consent of your parents\a judge, you can get married at 12!)

(2) The Japanese have a different use for the wave. Westerners use it to greet people, but they use it to beckon people closer. This leads to interesting cultural confusion at times.

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	2. Good Night, My Beloved

Takeru and Hikari don't belong to me. Indeed, they belong to and with each other. (And Toei, but it doesn't sound as sappily romantic!)

Thanks to the lovely, talented and charming Wolfie and Arylwren for their help and encouragement.

To respond to some reviews,

* I'm pretty sure Japanese women do change their names on getting married, although I'd surmise it's a fairly recent development. I'm basing this solely on my textbook where they've always had wives with the same surname as their husbands. And Japan is pretty patriarchal so I can't see the man changing his name. I stand open to correction, however.

* In this story, Takeru is 20 and Hikari is 21. 

* I'm intrigued by what you meant when you said you knew where this was going. I can't reply to this directly because you didn't specify what you anticipated, but I can assure you this isn't going to be your stereotyped ending with a fairy godmother pops in and fixes everything. . . . 

***

DANCING

PART TWO

'GOOD NIGHT, MY BELOVED' 

Just the sound of the cars on the road, cutting through the wind 

And the beat of our hearts echo through the room before the dawn 

Thank you, I want to protect you forever 

Please throw away your bad premonitions 

Good night my beloved 

~ Itoshii Hito yo Good Night, B'z  

Wearing only a smiling face at any time hurts, 

but I do not have anything but my bravery.

For a little while in bed, I will put aside my courage in sleep

Again, I will go to that place of rest.

~ Yasashii Ame, Araki Kae

*

With a frustrated sound, Takeru drew a thick, black line through the first paragraph of his short story, then crumpled up the paper and tossed it into the bin. He didn't know why he was bothering with being such a perfectionist when he knew it was pointless. No matter how hard he tried or how good his work was, he would get the same, low mark and the same, sarcastic comments about 'sticking to shooting hoops' from his lecturer. 

It couldn't be his actual writing. He'd seen work by other people in his class, and knew without a trace of doubt or arrogance that his was better. And Hikari had always liked his stories when he had shown them to her. She kept asking him to write a sequel to one of them. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion that she was not the most unbiased reader when it came to judging the quality of his writing. In all probability, he could have written a shopping-list and she would have thought it wonderful, because it had been done by him. He was no different when it came to her photographs. They could have been out of focus and cut off half their subjects, he thought wryly, and he would have been surprised that an art gallery didn't want to hang them. Love was the death of criticism. 

Perhaps his lecturer was right, he thought, leaning back in his chair and tapping his notebook with his pencil. Perhaps he was just a dumb jock who belonged on a court and not in a lecture-hall. Perhaps he should just give up and see his classes like some of his other team-mates did: an excuse to play on a university team and be spotted by a pro scout. 

After all, that was who he was. He was Takaishi Takeru, captain of the basketball team. Most mornings and afternoons found him on Odaiba University's courts, either at practice sessions or at matches. On his days off, he was paid to coach it at local high-schools. He was going to play it professionally one day. Everyone knew that about him. So, why was he bothering to work hard at his classes and to get good marks? Why did it even matter whether he passed his writing course or whether his lecturer thought he was a dumb jock who was only in the course because there were fewer books to read? He only knew that a part of him felt freer and happier when he was writing than he ever did on the court. 

He sighed and bent over his notebook again. He had been working steadily for about an hour, during which time he had finally hammered out his opening paragraph and the wastebasket had overflowed onto the floor, when he felt a pair of cool hands close over his eyes. They smelt of rose geranium hand-cream and astringent, developing chemicals. 

"Guess who?" a familiar voice demanded. 

"Hmm . . . Sounds like Taichi?" 

"Idiot," Hikari slid over the side of his chair to sit on his lap, before wrapping her arms around his neck and brushing her lips to his. At first, the kiss was soft, their lips barely touching, but it quickly deepened. The light kisses became slow and sweet, then hot and passionate. She tilted back her head, and he kissed her throat, her neck, her collarbone. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his lips. His hand went to her shoulder to take off her jacket, but she pulled away from him with a shaky, little laugh,"Hey, Takeru, don't make me hate having to go back to work tonight even more. You have no idea how close I am to blowing off the Kobayashi wedding at the moment."

He exhaled deeply, trying to regain his composure, "Would that be a bad thing? I kinda hoped I'd have you to myself tonight."

He traced the curve of her calf in an unspoken suggestion. It was a light, feather-like touch, but he felt Hikari shiver. Her cinnamon-sugar eyes were dark with passion, and her lips were parted as if in a kiss. He leaned closer to oblige her, but she pushed him away with a hand and slid gracefully off his lap.

"I have to get changed," she told him, straightening her clothes, "The wedding starts in about twenty minutes." 

As she disappeared into the bedroom, Takeru sighed and leaned back in his chair, "I knew it was too good to be true. I didn't expect to see you until after the wedding tonight, anyway. Let me guess . . . you and Miyako had a fight about the dance." 

"No-o," Hikari replied hesitantly, her voice muffled, "It was more me yelling at her and making an idiot of myself in public than an actual fight. No biggie. I'll phone her tomorrow and apologise."

Smiling to himself, "So, do you want to go?" 

"Go where?" 

"To the dance." 

"I have nothing to wear." 

"You could buy something," he suggested, "I know you're paying off the camera, but I've got the money I was saving for the basketball camp in America at the end of the year. You could . . ."

"Don't even think it!" Hikari reappeared in the doorway, buttoning up a red jacket. Beneath it, she was wearing a simple, white blouse and a knee-length skirt which was printed with tiny roses. It was the outfit she had worn to Jyou and Mimi's wedding, and he realised with a sharp pain how tired and worn she was looking in comparison to that time. He wished there was something he could do to make things easier for her, something more than giving her money for a dress, "You're absolutely not giving me your savings. I know how much you've been looking forward to that camp." 

"I can miss it," he argued, "It's not as important to me as you are, and . . . God, Hikari, I'm worried about you. You look like you're about to collapse." 

"If I'm about to collapse, then I probably shouldn't be dancing," she said tartly, walking up to him and kissing him on the cheek, "I'll be back late, love. Don't wait up for me. And don't worry about me. Everything's going to be all right." 

"That's my line," he replied, lifting her hand and touching his lips to her palm, "And how late is late? I don't mind waiting up if . . . ." (1)

He trailed off suggestively.

Laughing, "Someone has a one track mind today. I'd better get going before you convince me to skip this stupid wedding. Goodbye, Takeru."  

"Bye, love." 

*

It was after midnight by the time Hikari returned home, and their apartment was dark, apart from the kitchen light, which Takeru always left on for her. She kicked off her shoes at the door, leaving them next to his sneakers, and padded through to their bedroom on stockinged feet. Unsurprisingly, her husband was already asleep. The sound of his deep, peaceful breathing filled the room. She tiptoed closer to him, and was oddly touched to see that he had reached out for her during the night. His arm was flung across her side of the bed, and his hand was closed around a fold of sheet. 

With a sigh of her own, she sat on the edge of the bed, stripping off her stockings and dropping them onto the floor. Her flimsy, rose-print skirt and red jacket soon followed them. She sat still for a moment, stretching out her bare legs in front of her, staring at the blankness of the wall. Her body felt heavy, and her feet throbbed from standing behind the studio's counter all afternoon and behind a photographic tripod all evening. She thought she would scream if she had to develop one more set of holiday snaps or take one more photo of blushing bride plus groom plus wedding party. She covered her mouth to hide a yawn, and realised that she had forgotten to take off her ring. 

She smiled to herself as she drew it off her finger and held it up the light to admire it. It was a slim, silver band, delicately engraved and set with a highly-polished piece of rose-quartz. She knew her friends thought that Takeru had been cheap because he had not bought her a diamond ring, but money had had nothing to do with it. When she had been a little girl, she had believed that all diamonds were pink. She had been so disappointed the first time she had seen one on a woman's finger - it had been so white, chilly and brilliant. She had half-expected it to melt, because it had looked so much like a piece of ice to her. She had told Takeru the story once in passing many years ago, but he had remembered it and chosen the silver band because of it. And her ring was more precious to her than all diamonds for that.

Putting it on the bedside table, she glanced across to where he was sleeping and warmth rose up in her. She would have thought it impossible before she got married, but she fell in love with him all over again every time she woke up in the morning and returned home in the evening. It wasn't only his looks - the way his hair fell across his forehead, or the way his mouth was always curved in a slight smile, or even the way his back was so finely muscled - but it was the innocent sweetness that had always been a part of him and that she doubted he would ever outgrow.

Her chest tight with an almost painful love, she slipped beneath his arm and put her own around him. His skin was very soft and warm; she could feel his heart beating against her. With her forefinger, she traced the muscles of his side, and felt them tighten in response. He stirred slightly, pulling away from her with a grunt of protest, but did not wake. She giggled. His ticklishness was one of his cutest qualities. It was one of the ways she knew the little boy she had known was still present in the man she had married. 

Softly kissing his cheek, Hikari rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, "You do know I love you, don't you?" 

"Do I wake you up when I leave early in the morning for practice?" a tired-sounding voice grumbled from above her head. She looked up to see Takeru squinting blearily at her out of a single, blue eye, while the other was squeezed tightly shut. His hair was tousled into unruly spikes around his face, his forehead was crumpled like a used sheet, and he was rubbing the side of his head. Despite all of that, however, he still managed to look indignant. 

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you," she said, unable to stop herself from laughing, "I wish I had my camera, though." 

"Well, Hikari-chan should see herself some mornings," he yawned, sinking back into his pillow. 

"Hey!" she exclaimed, "You're my husband. You're only meant to say nice things about how incredibly beautiful I am and how lucky you are to have me."

"Will you go to sleep if I do?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe . . . ." 

"Okay," he mumbled, "Hikari-chan, you're more beautiful than . . . a very beautiful thing and I'm . . . I'm . . . ." 

Hikari waited expectantly for the rest of the sentence, but was rewarded only by the sounds of deep, regular breathing. She propped herself up on one elbow  to look at him, and saw that he had gone back to sleep. So much for her romantic, midnight speech! 

Muffling her laughter in his shoulder, she settled herself more comfortably against him and closed her eyes. His heartbeat was more soothing than any lullaby, and his arms, warmer than any blanket. It was strange, she thought, as she drifted off into sleep. She had expected their love, she had expected their passion, but she had not expected this sense of perfect peace that  being with him, that sleeping in his arms, brought her. With him, she could just be still.

Outside the window, cars went by in the street, and a light rain began to fall. 

*

NOTES:

(1)      Takeru's 01 image song is called 'Be All Right'. It's worthwhile getting - Konishi Hiroko was a professional singer with a group called Radish Roxs (gotta love those J-Pop names) for part of her career, and it shows. It's slightly disconcerting, however, because she sounds a whole lot like an adult women and nothing like an eight year-old boy.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

The B'z translation is from Meg-chan's site. (http://www.megchan.com/lyrics/translations/goodnightmybeloved.html) For those who have no idea who B'z is, they're a J-pop group who I think do rather lovely songs.

*

Buttons exist to be pushed! Don't let this one go to waste! 


	3. One Day

None of them are mine, and none of the money in my bank account comes from this.  
  
21/9: I realised I'd forgotten the image song at the beginning of this!  
  
****  
  
DANCING  
  
PART 3  
  
'ONE DAY'  
  
****  
  
This morning, I rub my sleepy eyes again, Then say spiritedly: "smile!" It seems my head remains in a dream While I brush my teeth.  
  
I wish on a falling star That I can use magic.  
  
Sometimes my tears flow Because it's all so frustrating. We're not alone in our world. But even I have my yearnings like everyone else. If I remain barefoot, I'll definitely be all right!  
  
~ Be All Right, Konishi Hiroko  
  
****  
  
Hikari woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and apple muffins. Takeru had obviously gotten up early and done some baking before he went for his usual, early-morning run. His side of the bed was empty with only creases in the sheets to mark where he had been. She smiled as she noticed her arms were wrapped around her husband's pillow. Whenever he left before she woke and he often did, he always slipped his pillow into her arms for some sweet Takeru reason of his own. He had never explained it and she had never asked, but she guessed it was because he never wanted her to wake up and think she was alone.  
  
Too warm and lazy to climb out of bed, she decided breakfast could be put on hold for a few minutes. Thursday was the only day on which she got to lie in in the mornings. The rest of the week, she had early lectures or the morning shift at the photo studio. It felt so good to lie under cotton sheets with the quiet pitter-patter of rain outside the window and the clean smell of home-baked muffins filling the apartment. She only wished that Takeru wasn't so very conscientious about jogging every morning, despite the weather.  
  
She buried her head in his pillow, breathing in his scent of clean soap and lemon shampoo and the indefinable sweetness that was entirely his own. It was one of the many things she loved about him, like the way his eyes were a darker blue in the early morning; or the way he looked directly at her in the stands every time he made a basket; or the way he was incapable of seeing the evil in anyone; or the way he still spoke with an accent that was not-quite-Tokyo; or the way he would lie on his side and just watch her after they had made love; or the way he would kiss her eyelids or the tip of her nose or her bellybutton while they did. . . . (1)  
  
She pushed the pillow firmly away from her and rolled onto her back with a sigh, spreading out her arms wide on either side of her. It was probably better if she didn't let her mind go there. Takeru's backpack was missing from its place behind the door and his basketball kit was no longer draped over the back of the chair. He had an early class with his jerk of a creative writing teacher, so he was probably going to shower at the courts and head straight to it. To make matters worse, he had his elementary school coaching all afternoon and she was working late at the studio that night. All in all, she thought she had better think pure thoughts.  
  
Her eyes went to the cell phone resting next to her husband's side of the bed. Phoning Miyako would be almost better than a cold shower. She could just see the way the conversation would run. As always, Miyako would be the injured victim, the concerned friend who had spoken out because she was worried about her and who had been blasted for her troubles. She had not meant to imply that Hikari should not have married Takeru. She had not meant to suggest that her life would have been better without him. And so on. Ultimately, it would end up with Miyako crying, while Hikari tried desperately to comfort her. And their argument would become all Hikari's fault. She simply didn't have the energy to go through that this morning.  
  
Besides, she wasn't sure if she were ready to forgive Miyako. She might have lightly dismissed the argument when she had been talking with Takeru the other day, but she could never have told him what her friend had said. He would have been too hurt by it. Oh, he would have smiled and made a joke about it, but his blue eyes would have been dark with pain. For all his outward confidence and optimism, there would always be a five year-old part of Takaishi Takeru standing at the door of his apartment and watching his father and brother walk away from him never to return. There would always be a part of him that feared she too did not love him enough and that she too would disappear one day like the morning light.  
  
Even she battled to handle what Miyako had said, and she was used to her friend's interrogations. While she had been standing behind her tripod at the wedding, taking pictures of the new couple smiling at each other, she had not been able to stop thinking about what her friend had said to her. The question had kept repeating itself in her head, demanding an answer: "I know you say you're happy, but don't you sometimes wish you hadn't gotten married?" What if Miyako had been right? What if all her friends and family had been right?  
  
She remembered her brother's reaction when she had told him they were engaged. Taichi had remained silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on her face, then he had rubbed a hand over his eyes and said: "You're still young, Hikari. You should be focussing on having fun and on getting your degree. You shouldn't have to worry about the sort of responsibilities that come with marriage. Besides, if Takeru is serious enough about you to want to marry you, he'll still be there for you once you've gotten your life together." At the time, she had been so furious with Taichi that she hadn't been able to speak. She had just snatched up her bag and stormed out of his apartment. Now, with a bank balance that hovered around zero and a drawer of bills that had to be paid and a job that she hated, she was starting to wonder if he had been so wrong.  
  
Hikari began to shiver, rolling onto her side and pulling the blankets closer around her. She didn't want to have these thoughts. She wanted everything to be safe and certain, like it had been when they were children or during the first few weeks of marriage before daily life had spoilt their honeymoon bliss. And she didn't want to imagine a life without Takeru. She had known him for thirteen years, and dated him for half of those. Almost everything she knew about love or sex, she had discovered with him. It would be like waking up in the morning and finding the sun had dropped out of the sky. It would be impossible, ridiculous, wrong. Worst of all, it would hurt Takeru in a way she did not want to contemplate. If she left him, if she asked him for a divorce . . .  
  
"Don't even think that, Takaishi Hikari. You love him and you are not going to leave him like everyone else in his life has," she told herself firmly, pretending a resoluteness she did not feel, "Instead, you're going to get out of bed, get dressed and eat the breakfast your too-sweet-for-his-own- good husband made for you. And you're never going to have these thoughts again."  
  
Pushing the blankets away from her, she climbed out of bed and padded across the floor to their chest-of-drawers. She bent to open the bottom one, hesitating over what to wear before pulling out a pair of black jeans and a pink vest. She straightened and turned to the mirror to check how it looked against her. In it, she saw a thin, tired-looking woman in a crumpled, linen blouse and mismatched underwear. Her hair was ruffled around her, and there were soft, purple smudges beneath her eyes.  
  
With an effort, Hikari smiled at herself and said: "It'll be all right. I know it will."  
  
***  
  
"You need to phone Hikari tonight and apologise," Daisuke told Miyako, as he added a sandwich and apple to his tray and moved along the line to pay the cashier. He looked around himself for a free table where they could sit. There was one right by the door - overstuffed, slightly battered couches surrounding a low coffee table - and he quickly made for it before anyone else could take it. He set down his tray and leapt easily over the side of one of the sofas, wriggling to get comfortable, long legs spilling over the armrest.  
  
Miyako took a seat opposite him, perching on the edge and placing her own salad in front of her. She made a face at him, "I can't believe you're still on her side, Daisuke, after everything that's happened."  
  
"I'm not on her side," he objected, "I'm . . . I'm giving you my totally fair and unbiased opinion."  
  
Knowingly, "Riiiiight. Because you're totally fair and unbiased when it comes to Takaishi Hikari."  
  
Daisuke winced at the name. When it came to Hikari's marriage, there was a dull, sick feeling inside of him that no amount of argument or pretence could erase. There were times when he almost forgot it - when he was playing soccer or when he was clowning around with his friends - but it was never gone completely. A part of him always wondered what it would be like if she were applauding his goals, laughing at his jokes, standing by his side, just as another part of him always knew she never would be. The loss of her was a constant, nagging pain, like a wound that would not quite heal but continued aching long after the injury. It had been there since the day he had found out that she was engaged.  
  
She had come to his dormitory room one frosty, winter evening to give him the news. She had been radiant, her cheeks flushed pink with cold and her hair was dusted with ice-glitter. What was she doing out on a night like this, he had thought, what was so important it could not wait for the morning? For a moment, his heart had beaten faster and he had wondered if she had come to tell him she loved him, but then he had seen the glitter of silver on her finger and had known. To his surprise, he had felt no pain - that had come later, while he was lying alone in bed and thinking they were probably together at that moment. He had not known that the instant of heartbreak could be so painless. Hikari hadn't said anything, but had put her arms around him and had pulled her to him. She had smelt of snow, and her hair had been damp. It had been a strange experience, holding her for the first time and knowing that she would never be his to hold again.  
  
It had been almost as strange as discovering he had been the first one she had chosen to tell. He still couldn't understand why it had been him, and not her parents or her brother.  
  
"That was below the belt, Miyako."  
  
"I'm sorry," Miyako plucked at her skirt, not meeting his eyes, "You didn't deserve that. I know how you feel about . . . about it."  
  
"It would be easier if Takeru were a real bastard, y'know," he exhaled deeply, "If he cheated on her, or drank away all their money, or hit her, or. . . God, I don't know. I'd never want Hikari to be in that sort of a marriage, to be with someone who hurt her like that, but it would mean I had some right to be angry at him for being with her. It would give me some reason other than stupid jealousy to be pissed with him," his hands tightened into fists in his lap, and then loosened, "But he isn't. He's a great guy, who really loves her and who would give up everything he's got just to see her smile. Once I caught him buying flowers, and asked him what he was celebrating. He looked kinda sheepish and evaded the question for - like - minutes, but I eventually got an answer out of him. He was buying them because they'd been married for thirty-seven days. Not a month, six months or any other special anniversary, but thirty-seven days! That's the sort of guy Takeru is. And he makes her happy. Being with him makes her happy. You can see that as well as I can, which is why I think you should apologise to her."  
  
Daisuke picked up his apple and bit into it in a pretence of nonchalance. He could feel his hands shaking. It was hard to talk about them, hard to accept the irreversible fact of their marriage. Before, he had always been in with a chance - there had always been a chance, no matter how slender, that Hikari would have a change of heart and realise that she had loved him the entire time. It was for that reason that he had written her Valentine's Cards and saved all his money for her presents and learnt how to play basketball. Now, she wore Takeru's ring on her finger, and his chances had shrunk to the same bright, cold zero.  
  
Miyako stared at him for a long while, a strange expression on her mobile face, then she slowly nodded her head.  
  
"You're right, Dai. Maybe I should apologise to her for what I said. If you don't mind, we'll stop by their apartment tomorrow before the dance . . . . "  
  
***  
  
Twenty thousand yen. (2)  
  
Even considering it was all the money Takeru had in the world - after his share of that month's food and rent had been subtracted - it seemed like a lot. The wad of notes was satisfyingly thick in his hands, as he removed it from the ATM. It was the money that he had saved yen by painful yen out of the small salary he was paid for coaching basketball at Odaiba Elementary School. He had planned to go to America on it to attend a training camp in Los Angeles. His coach had suggested it to him, saying he should go if he were at all serious about playing professional basketball, and had told him that the University would pay three-quarters of the cost for him. It had taken him months to raise enough to cover his part of the deal, and here he was planning to blow it in a single morning on a single purchase. It was a good thing he knew Hikari was worth it.  
  
He opened his wallet to put away the notes, and smiled when he saw the picture of his wife that he kept in it. It was a good photograph of her, dating from one of the few occasions he had been able to part her from her beloved camera for long enough to take her picture. It had been at the party Taichi and Sora had thrown to celebrate their second anniversary, he remembered. She had been laughing with her brother - her face was turned slightly away from the camera and her smile was genuine and unselfconscious. The warm candlelight had made her skin golden, so that it seemed she glowed with some inner light. She had been so mad with him when she had heard the shutter click. For a photographer, Hikari had a strange hatred of being on the other side of the lens.  
  
He snapped the wallet shut and put it back in his pocket. He knew he didn't have time to spend admiring her photograph, as easy as it would have been to do. He checked his watch, and grimaced. He had about an hour before his next class, and a twenty-minute walk to get to it. It wasn't much time to plan an evening that would make Hikari forget about the unpaid bills and the leaky sink and the assignments due the next day; that would wipe the tiredness from her eyes. He hoped he could manage it.  
  
It was with that intention in mind that Takeru was walking around the mall, searching for a shop, when he saw it. Bright as a flame in the window of the boutique, the red dress could have been designed expressly for Hikari. Its rich colour would bring out the warmth of her copper-dusky skin and its simple cut would show off her slight, graceful figure to its best advantage. He tilted his head to measure it - it looked about her size as well. He was decided. It didn't matter how much it cost. As far as he was concerned, it had been hers from the moment it had been sewn.  
  
Pushing open the door to a silvery jingle of chimes, he walked up to the counter. The saleswoman looked up from her fashion magazine and peered at him from behind black-rimmed glasses. She had an expression of mild surprise on her face, evidently unused to male customers coming into her store, "May I help you, sir?"  
  
"Yes, you can," he said without hesitation, "I'll take the dress in the window."  
  
***  
  
TO BE CONTINUED  
  
***  
  
NOTES:  
  
(1) Takeru's seiyuu is from Hiroshima, and he does speak Japanese with a noticable accent, bearing in mind that standard Japanese tends to be Tokyo Japanese. Listen to the way he says 'Taichi' as 'Taiki', if you need an example. I've seen people claim that's the standard pronuncation of Taichi's name, but it isn't.  
  
While I'm thinking of pronunciation, everyone knows how to say his surname? I was ill advisedly watching the dub the other day, and they kept saying it wrong. It was almost as annoying as the way they say Takato's name in Tamers. Anyway, for your reference, it's more or less said "Tuh-kai-shh."  
  
(2) Twenty thousand yen may sound a lot, but one yen is pretty much comparable to one cent. Tokyo's clothing stores are also notoriously expensive. I was reading an article about Bubble Juniors in my Sunday paper, and a pair of lime-green jeans was about Y8800 or R800! Of course, that's haute couture and the author of the article noted that as an exorbitant price to pay, but that should give you some guide.  
  
To pre-empt the obvious question, Bubble Juniors are the daughters of women who lived through Japan's economic boom or 'bubble' in the 1980's, and who now are eager to pass on their passion for shopping and clothes to their teenage daughters. They spend huge amounts of money on designer wardrobes for them as a result. I think Mimi is a Bubble Junior. ^.^  
  
***  
  
Simon says "Click the review button!" 


	4. The Blood of Roses

_To reply to some reviews before I do anything else,_

_Thank you to everyone for your kind words. I'm . . . wow, I'm absolutely humbled by some of the stuff you've said to me, especially the woman who said she recognised her own life in this. I only hope the rest of this story can live up to your expectations. _

_The story was originally going to be four parts. It's now going to be five or six. Part 2 was unplanned in my initial outline, but it felt necessary at the time. However, if you're enjoying it, I doubt you're going to complain about an extra part or two, right? ^.~ _

_(Nonetheless, four parts or six, the characters won't be any less the property of Toei and I won't make any more money . . . . Gotta get that disclaimer in somewhere!) _

_Everyone keeps saying that this story is like a novel they've read. I'd love to know exactly what novel it is, because I genuinely haven't read it and want to do so. This was inspired by reading I've been doing lately for pleasure and for a course in Realist fiction - a mix of O. Henry's Gifts of the Mag__i, de Maupassant's Le Parure__ and Wells' Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. __There are obvious echoes of each story in this piece, I'd imagine, but they are only echoes. _

_Finally, the title of this part is from a poem. Annoyingly, I've gone completely blank on who wrote it or what it's called, but one of the lines in it is 'You drink too deeply of the blood of roses.'_

**_8:41 PM CORRECTION: _**_Shimatta, you're quite right. I must have been half-asleep when I was writing this part, because the verb 'to dance' is 'odoru', not 'otoru'. The other would mean "do you want to be inferior?" What is even more annoying is I've just finished translating episode 14 of Frontier, and Arbormon repeatedly goes "Odore! Odore!" while whacking Takuya and Kouji. So, I really have no excuse. weeps a little _

_****_

**DANCING**

**PART 4**

**THE BLOOD OF ROSES **

_I wonder at what a short time ago it was -_

_the injuries that came to an end every time that you were near_

_when I shone far. _

_There were eerie fissures -_

_many sad incidents, but how many were they?_

_Now, I understand._

_~ Reflection, Araki Kae _

Hands resting on her stomach, Hikari lay awake in the grey, predawn light and thought about dancing. Tonight, her classmates would be swaying in their partners' arms beneath tissue-paper blossoms and fairy-light stars. She wanted to be among them so badly. She could almost feel the swish of a silk skirt against her legs and the warmth of her lover's arm around her shoulders. She would look up at him to see herself reflected in his flame-blue eyes, and the music would fade into silence against his heartbeat, his breath. . . . 

With a frustrated grunt, she rolled over onto her side and pushed the thought firmly away from her. There was no point imagining a dance to which she could not go, and she could not go to this one. Of necessity, her plans for that evening were very different. Tonight, she would grab a sandwich from the cafeteria, before rushing to the LAN and checking through her digital portfolio of photographs one last time.

Sudden tears stung her eyes. She tried to fight them back, but she couldn't. The job she hated, the dress she couldn't afford, the fight she had had with Miyako, the exhaustion that reached right to her bones, everything rushed back into her head and made her cry all the harder. She buried her face in her pillow in an attempt to muffle her sobs. The last thing she wanted was for Takeru to wake and see her crying; was for him to know that she was unhappy.

When she felt the mattress move beneath her, she knew she had been unsuccessful. Moments later, a pair of warm arms were wrapped around her and a kiss was pressed to the back of her neck. She leaned back into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his steady breathing ruffle her hair. Eventually, her hiccuping sobs quietened and her own breathing slowed to normal. 

"What's wrong, love?" he asked at last, his voice still soft and heavy with sleep. 

"Nothing," she tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it, "I'm just so tired. With work and school and everything else . . . . " 

"My poor angel," he rubbed her back with a hand, "But what's really the matter? What did Miyako say to you the other day that's upset you so badly?" 

Hikari stiffened. She should have guessed he would see through the lie - Takeru always had been able to read her, as if she were one of his books, "How'd you guess?" 

"I've only known you since you were eight, remember? I can tell when something's bugging you, and something has been since you got back from shopping with her," he replied, "Whatever she said, you can tell me. It'll be okay." 

If she had not felt so bleak, she would have laughed at that. If she told Takeru what Miyako had asked her, nothing would be all right. Nothing would be all right ever again. Giving voice to her fears would make them real. It would mean she had to find an answer to her friend's question, and some small, secret part of her was afraid it might not be 'yes'. And that was not even considering the pain her friend's words would cause him. 

"It's not important," she demurred. 

"I kinda think it is, if it's eating at you like this." 

"I can't." 

"You can," he insisted, "We're married, Hikari. You can tell me anything, and I won't love you any less. I promise you that. Cross my heart." 

Pulling away from him, Hikari sat up in bed and looked out of the window. Outside the window, rain was falling. Drops of water glistened on the glass, and the sky was ghost-grey where the clouds reflected the light of the city beneath them. Thunder rumbled distantly in the west. She could feel Takeru shift his position, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her expectantly. 

At last, she said, "She asked me if I wished I had never married you." 

The words seemed to hang in the air after she had spoken them, like the echo of a gunshot or a slap. And she knew he could not have known what he was promising, could not have meant what he had said. 

"And do you?" Takeru asked in a quiet voice that was not his own. Feeling sick, Hikari turned to look at him. All the colour had drained from his face, leaving him white and pale. His breathing was ragged, and she could tell he was fighting back tears of his own now. The five year-old boy looked out at her through his eyes in pain, fear and confusion. She had known what Miyako's words would do to him, yet she had spoken them. 

She moved across the bed back to him, taking his hand in her own and kissing each fingertip in turn, before she pressed her lips against his palm. He smelt of cotton sheets and her rose soap and his own sweet scent, "No. No, never. You know I love you." 

"Then why are you bothered by what she said?" he asked in that same, terrible voice. 

Hikari could not answer him, "I love you, Takeru-chan." 

"I love you too, _omae." (1)_

Looking up at him, Hikari was scared by how much of a stranger he felt at that moment. He had never used that formal address with her in the past. To him, she had always been Hikari-chan or one of the ridiculous pet-names that he seemed to take a perverse delight in inventing for her. She almost had to remind herself that the tall, slim, young man lying beside her was _Takeru - the boy who had run up to her with a smile on his face that first day at the television station and had announced they were going to be best friends; who had watched over when she was ill; whose fingers had curled around hers as they had fallen from the sky; who had come to her across time and space when she had called him. How could Takeru ever seem like a stranger to her? _

Feeling oddly helpless, she slipped her arms around his neck, pulled him down on top of her and kissed him deeply. His mouth tasted of salt, of tears. He returned her kiss, his lips moving from hers to trace the line of her throat, his fingers clumsily undoing the ties of her wedding-gift _nemaki. And, even as they made love, she could sense something between them as dark and insubstantial as the shadow of parting. (2)_

*

Clutching her school-books in one arm and a paper packet of groceries in the other, Hikari hurried up the steps of their apartment block. She didn't have much time. Takeru was going to be home in an hour or two from basketball practice, and she wanted to have dinner ready for him. Instead of her usual Chinese or pizza from the closest take-away, she was going to make him _coq au vin, which he had sworn he had lived on during his vacations in France. She had even bought French bread and a bottle of champagne for good measure - her cooking was usually best eaten drunk. She had decided that her portfolio of photographs would have to be submitted as it was. She had been through it three times already, and any improvements she could make to it would be minor. Her marriage, on the contrary, needed work. _

The events of the early morning seemed like a distant nightmare. She had woken up and had wondered if it had happened, then had remembered the terrible look in Takeru's eyes and had known she could have never imagined that. Not sure of what she was going to say to him when she saw him, she had gone through to the kitchen to find Takeru humming to himself and flipping pancakes. When he had noticed her, he had grinned and begun serenading her with a ridiculous song he'd evidently made up on the spot about her being the cinnamon-sugar-with-a-squeeze-of-lemon pancake of his life. Takeru was a good tenor and he had almost pulled it off, but, by the end of the second verse, she had been clutching the table and begging him to stop because her sides ached from laughing so much. By all of that, she had taken it that they weren't going to talk about what either of them had said or done only hours ago. She had been relieved, and ashamed that she was relieved. They had never been anything before about which they had been able to talk. (2)

Fumbling in her pocket for her keys, she unlocked the door of their apartment and her eyes widened in surprise. Like strange pink and silver moons, four balloons were bobbing around their living room. All of them had little cards tied to the ends of their strings, on which something had been written in her husband's broad, black hand. Setting her parcels aside, she quickly caught all of them and removed the notes. There was a single word on each card, and she shuffled them around until they were in the right order. 

"'_Odotte hoshii desu ka'," she read, then repeated it in confusion, "Do you want to dance? What is that supposed to mean? He knows we aren't going to the spring ball." (3)_

Puzzled, she went to their bedroom to get changed out of her work clothes before she started the meal. It wasn't like she was going anywhere that night, but the bright-yellow shirt always made her feel like a walking, talking banana. In Hikari's opinion, the uniform was almost the worst part about the photo studio, after the kids who wouldn't smile and the teenagers who insisted that they looked fat in all their pictures. The bedroom door was closed, and there was a single, wine-dark rose taped to it. She pulled off the flower, holding it to her nose and breathing in its wild, sweet scent. The petals brushed against her skin, like a lover's kiss. She wondered what Takeru was planning, what she would find when she opened the door. 

Excitement champagne-fizzy inside her, Hikari twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Her hand went to her mouth in an instinctive, little-girl gesture when she saw their bed. It was covered in rose-petals, ranging from the palest pink to the richest red. Their musky fragrance filled the room. In the middle of them rested a sleek, white box, tied around with a crimson, chiffon ribbon. She had seen boxes exactly like that at the expensive boutique at which Miyako had bought her own outfit for the ball. 

Hardly daring to hope, she walked slowly to their bed to sit on its edge. The scent of roses was overpowering, and, together with her excitement, made her feel dizzy and light-headed. Drawing the box closer to her, she undid the ribbon with shaking fingers and lifted the lid. Inside, it rustled with white crinkle-paper. She carefully parted that to see what it hid and felt her breath catch in her throat. . . . 

It was her dress. 

Takeru had bought her dress for her. 

Even after what had happened that morning, Takeru had bought her dress for her. 

She buried her face in it, smelling its clean, new scent, feeling the softness of the silk and chiffon against her skin. She was ashamed, thrilled and sad all at the same time. Who was she to deserve a man who tied messages to balloons, who scattered her bed with roses, who knew without asking the right dress to buy? 

Hikari looked up in sudden horror, realising something. Where had her husband gotten the money? She had seen the price-tag on this outfit. She knew exactly how much it cost, and he couldn't afford it any more than she could. He earned a modest salary from his coaching, enough to cover his share of their expenses and to give him a little liquid cash. However, anything left over at the end of the month, he had been putting towards his trip to America. Suddenly, she remembered what he had said to her the other day while she had been dressing for the Kobayashi wedding. _I've got the money I was saving for the basketball camp in America at the end of the year. You could . . . . _

Her stomach twisted within her, as she realised what he had done. 

"No, Takaishi Takeru, I'm absolutely not going to let you to get away with this!" 

***

to be continued

***

NOTES:

(1) In this context, _omae is a slightly formal, old-fashioned way of addressing your wife in Japanese. I'm using it to emphasise the distance they feel at that moment, because I can't in a million years see Takeru referring to Hikari as __omae on a regular basis. For those who are curious, the formal address for a husband is __goshujin-sama! O.o;;_

(2) _Nemaki: traditional Japanese night-gown. It's like a robe with a tie at the side._

(3) Yamamoto Taisuke has a rather lovely voice when he sings tenor. His alto is a little suspect, though. I can put a verse or two of 'Focus' and 'Steppin' Out' up for you on my webpage, if you don't want to download the whole songs. 

(4) 'Odotte hoshii desu ka' would literally mean 'is dancing a wish?' It's a structure I'd only use with someone I knew fairly well, though.

***

_Review-te hoshii desu ka. ^.^ _


	5. Life as a Fairytale

_Unless my rich uncle buys me Toei for Christmas, I don't think I'll be owning Digimon anytime soon.  _

_This is the penultimate part. There's a brief epilogue to come. _

_And I'm really curious . . . . Did the book\play end in the same way as this does? _

  


* * *

  


DANCING

PART 5

LIFE AS A FAIRYTALE

  


* * *

Later, in a little while, in the middle of the gentle rain,  
cover up my pain.  
My weakness will be washed away,  
since I will begin to run.   
~ Yasashii Ame, Araki Kae

I wonder at what a short time ago it was -  
the injuries that came to an end   
every time that you were near   
when I shone far.   
There were eerie fissures -  
many sad incidents, but how many were they?   
Now, I understand.   
I watched intently, you were there and they ended.   
  
Your eyes were very beautiful -   
I watched, and I changed.   
The sky served as your eyes,   
but your own eyes were always sensing things.   
They were the reflection of memory.   
~ Reflection, Araki Kae (and, yes, she is obviously singing about Takeru in this one. :P)   
  


* * *

  


"Give me three seconds to throw on my tux and we can go," Takeru called as he kicked off his sneakers at the door and walked through to the living room in his socks. He frowned when no response came from Hikari. She didn't have to work Fridays and all her classes on the day were morning ones, so she should have been home hours ago. Their apartment was dark and quiet; the helium balloons he had bought bobbed silently in the gloom. He batted a silver one away from him as it drifted past, "Are you home, Hikari-chan?"

There was still no reply from her. 

He ran a hand through his shower-damp hair, breathing deeply and collecting himself. He had to be sensible about this. There was no point in jumping to the worst possible conclusion. In all likelihood, Hikari had gone straight to the university's LAN to work on her photographs without stopping by their apartment, without discovering the surprise he had planned for her. She would come home later that night and they would laugh about the confusion. 

However, the white note cards lying on the table showed that up for the self-deception it was. In his thick, black writing, they spelt out his invitation: _Odotte hoshii desu ka? Do you want to dance?__ Only Hikari could have removed them from their balloons and arranged them in the correct order. All the clever theories in the world could not deny the simple facts of the matter: she had read his message, and had left for the LAN anyway, if that was indeed where she had gone._

He sank heavily into their overstuffed sofa. She was probably avoiding him in her discomfort over what had happened that morning. He couldn't blame her; he had also felt pretty awkward when she had come through to breakfast. As much as he had tried to forget them and carry on as if she had said nothing, her words had hurt him. They still kept coming into his mind, bringing with them the same sharp pain, the same strange fear. 

After they had had sex that morning, she had fallen into a light and disturbed sleep, but he not been able to follow her example. Instead, he had lain awake and thought about life without Yagami Hikari. There would be no more of her familiar clutter around their bedroom - her robe over the chair, her photographs on the floor, her make-up on the dressing table. There would be no more of her surprise attacks with her camera in which she delighted in catching him at the worst conceivable times. There would be no more of her spontaneous picnics where she would spread a blanket on the lounge floor and make endless, horrible sandwiches for them. There would be no more Sunday mornings when she would lie with her head on his lap and listen to him read her his stories. There would be no more sleepy midnight conversations when she returned home late from work and wasn't quite ready to fall asleep. Life without her would be very cold and empty. 

His eyes went to the photograph on the mantelpiece. It had been taken at their wedding - not the official, posed one that they had sent to all their friends and relatives, but one that Sora had snapped while they weren't looking. It showed him and her sitting together in the garden of the hotel at which they had had their reception. Her head was resting on his shoulder, his arm was around her. They looked so innocent and so happy, as if they truly believed that all the days ahead of them would be happy ones. 

The question she hadn't answered returned to him with painful inevitability - did she regret marrying him? If she could go back to that evening when he had smiled at her and asked her to marry him, would she have changed her mind and said 'no' to him? Since she couldn't, was she planning to divorce him? 

He sighed. Maybe life was like a song that returned to the same chorus every time. Maybe he and Yamato couldn't avoid making the same mistakes and paying for them in the same way as their parents had. He knew his brother's marriage to Yuu was falling apart rapidly. He had seen it when he and Hikari visited them for Christmas. The old, hard look had returned to Yamato's eyes, and Yuu had never stopped smiling once in their presence. He had heard her crying at night, though, when she had thought they were asleep. 

"Maybe we're just terminally screwed up when it comes to love," he thought, "If I can't make it work with Hikari, then I can't make it work with anyone . . . ." 

The back of his neck prickled at the thought. When had his marriage been reduced to proving that he succeed where his parents had failed, that he wasn't as dysfunctional as his childhood had been? 

"I'm home," a quiet voice broke into his thoughts.

In surprise, Takeru looked up to see Hikari standing in their bedroom door, leaning against its frame with one arm. She was dressed in a blue peasant blouse with daisies embroidered around its neck and a faded, denim skirt. She was barefoot, and her one leg was twined around the other. She was holding a brown envelope in her hand, with which she was tapping her thigh. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip. 

"Why didn't you say so, when I called?" 

"I-I needed time to think before I saw you, Takeru," she said hesitantly, "I needed to think before we spoke." 

"Why did you need time? You know you can tell . . . ." he began in confusion, then stopped in mid-sentence as he realised what she had meant. He felt himself go cold. If she needed time to think, to choose her words, she could only have one thing to say to him. He had been dreading it since that morning, but had not thought it would come so soon. He continued in a flat voice, "I get it. You were trying to think of a kind way of breaking it to me, but . . . there isn't one. I should know. If you want a divorce, Hikari, I  . . . ." he trailed off, his voice choking in his throat, so that he was unable to finish the sentence. Hot tears rose in his eyes.

"A divorce? Us?" Hikari repeated, sounding genuinely shocked, "God, no. No, no, Takeru, I . . . ." she crossed the living-room to come and stand in front of him. She held out the envelope to him, "Here. You need to have this." 

Not moving to take it from her, Takeru frowned at the envelope. Manilla and official-looking, it was the sort used by banks and doctors. A new possibility rushed into his mind. Hikari was perfectly healthy and been for years, as far as he knew, so she could have only been to the doctor for one reason alone. He looked back up at her in excitement and fear, "Are you . . . are you . . . pregnant?" 

"Takeru, you know perfectly well I'm on the Pill," Hikari stuck out her tongue at him, then sobered, "No, this is just a cheque for the money you spent on my dress. I had it refunded. Take it already."

He stared at her disbelievingly. He remembered her telling him the other day that she had not wanted to spend his basketball money on a dress for herself, but had thought she would change her mind when she saw the one he had bought for her. Maybe it had not been as perfect for her as he had thought at the time, "You took back the dress?" 

"Yes. And here's the money for it." 

"You keep it," he pushed her hand gently away from him, "I don't want it." 

"Nor do I," she dropped the envelope onto his lap, before folding her arms across her chest and tilting her chin defiantly. He had seen the same, determined look on Taichi's face hundreds of times, when he had dug in his heels and was prepared for a fight. He met her stare levelly, deliberately picking up the envelope and setting it on the cushion next to him. In case she had forgotten, Ishidas could be pretty stubborn as well. 

"I'm not going to get it, you know," she said in resolute tones, "It's your money, and I can't take it."

"Well, then it'll just have to stay there," he shrugged, getting to his feet, "What do you want for dinner? I can do _miso soup or something, if you don't mind eating a bit late." _

Her forehead crinkled, "Aren't we going to talk about this?"

"What more is there to say? I bought you a dress. You returned it, because you didn't like it. And now we have more than the usual amount of change in our sofa. End of story." 

"No, Takeru, I loved the dress," she replied quietly, dropping her gaze to her feet, "It was the one I wanted ever since I saw it."

Exasperation seeping into his voice, "Then why'd you return it?"

Hikari let out her breath with a sharp puff, her head snapping back up to look at him. Her eyes glittered. There were bright spots of colour on both her cheeks, "Because I love you more! Because I damn well want you more!" 

"And I love you. What would be so bad about accepting a present from me?" 

"It would be selfish! I know how much the camp in America means to you. I don't want to be the one stopping you from . . . from living out your own dreams." 

"It's just a stupid camp, Hikari. You're much more important to me." 

"And it's just a stupid dress! You're much more important to me! Why don't you get that?" Hikari shouted. Her hand went to her mouth in an instinctive gesture of shock. Takeru stared at her, equally stunned, not knowing what to say to her in return. They had had their share of arguments in their months of marriage, but his wife had never raised her voice in one of them. He might shout and storm, but her anger was always chillingly, impeccably polite. 

However, oddly enough, her furious words had broken some subtle tension between them. For the first time that day, he felt himself relax slightly. 

Slowly, she lowered her hand and continued in a softer voice, "I don't need a fancy dress to dance, Takeru-chan. All I need is the right partner, and I've found him. If he still wants me?" 

His love for her warm within him, "You know he does." 

Smiling up at him, she slipped her arms around him and snuggled her head beneath his chin. He tightened his own arms around her, burying his face in her hair and breathing in its wild flower scent. Holding her, he felt the hard, cold knot in his chest dissolve. It was like waking up from a long nightmare to see blue skies and the sun streaming through the window. . . .  

Impulsively, he lifted her up off the ground and spun around with her. Hikari gave a little yelp of surprise, her arms going to his neck and her legs wrapping around his waist. Her dark hair whipped around her and her eyes sparkled, as he turned her in circles. 

"What are you doing?" 

Dizzily happy, he asked, "Takaishi Hikari-san, will you go to the dance with me?" 

"Like we are?" she laughed, looking down at his grey-green poloneck and black jeans, "Takeru! We can't!" 

"Why not?" he paused to kiss the hollow of her throat, "Who cares about what you're wearing? You'll still be the most amazing, beautiful, wonderful woman there." 

"And I _will have the cutest, sweetest partner. So, why not? Let's go!" she kissed the tip of his nose, then pulled back slightly to look at him with a solemn expression on her pretty face, "I've been such an idiot, Takeru-chan. I've been an idiot for letting Miyako's question get to me. It made me wonder if my life might be better without you, if I'd have more fun, more money, more free time, more whatever without you. . . .But I've realised that it's a stupid question. If my life stopped having you in it, none of that would count, because you're the person who makes me happy. And, if I ever had made you think I didn't want you anymore, I'm sorry. I'm so - " _

"You don't need to apologise, love," he said softly, then placed his mouth on top of hers. She parted her lips in response, and the kiss deepened. She shifted position in his arms, unwrapping her legs from his waist, pressing the length of her body against him. Her feet were still in the air, her toes pointed like a ballerina's. He felt warmth spread through him like starshine. 

Suddenly, he heard their apartment's door bang open behind them. High heels clickety-clacked across the wooden floor, and Miyako's voice began to gush, "I'm so, so sorry, Hikari. . . . .," she cut off in mid-apology with a gasp, "Oh my god. . . Hikari, who is making out with Takeru and who is now going to be even more pissed with me because I walked in on them." 

Takeru's cheeks were burning, as he broke away from his wife. He didn't even want to think how they must have looked, what she must have thought they were doing. Hikari buried her head in his shoulder, her own cheeks crimson.

"That's why you knock, Miyako," Daisuke's voice added weakly, "Hey, you two." 

Takeru heard Hikari give a muffled, little groan, and guessed the reason. She knew the other boy still loved her, and tried her best to keep from causing him any more pain than she already had by her marriage. It was why he had been the first person she had told about their engagement: she hadn't wanted him to hear it from one of the others, and think she had cared so little for him that she not bothered to tell him herself. He felt no jealousy at that. 

Still embarrassed, Takeru set Hikari on her feet and turned around to greet his friends. Twisting her chiffon shawl nervously around one hand, Miyako was giving them a sheepish grin. She was wearing a silvery-blue slip of a dress that sparkled with rhinestones. Another shimmering arrow of the stones decorated her lilac hair, sweeping it out from her eyes. Behind her, Daisuke was scuffing the floor with a shiny, black shoe, an uncomfortable look on his face. He was dressed in a classic tuxedo, complete with a white rose at his lapel and a black bowtie at his throat. 

"Hey, Daisuke, Miyako," he said as naturally as he could manage in the circumstances. 

"Hi," Hikari added, tugging her skirt back into place, "Can we get a ride with you to the dance? As you can see, we spent all our money on our party clothes . . . ." 

"You aren't going dressed in that, Takaishi Hikari!" Miyako exclaimed in horror, her apology evidently forgotten, "And, Takeru, aren't you at least going to put on a tux or something respectable?"

His wife smiled up at him before she replied, "I don't know, Miyako. I think we'll be fine just the way we are." 

*

NOTES:

· Before the medical students begin telling me that women on the Pill can and do get pregnant, I'm aware of that fact. It's ALMOST 100% proof against pregnancy, however. Studies in Sweden show that only 17 pregnancies occurred in 40 million hours of use. (I so don't want to know how they got those facts, actually.)

· A note on the Japanese suffixes: -chan is obviously very affectionate. However, Takeru and Hikari are more using it because they've grown up together, rather than because they're married. –san can more or less be translated 'Mr' or 'Ms' with the same degree of politeness as that implies in English. Takeru is obviously being grandiose there. 

*

_Click the review button and a genie will appear from your computer to grant *my* wish! _


	6. Epilogue: Star of Love

Firstly, no amount of wishing can make the characters mine. They'll always belong to Toei. How depressing. 

Secondly, thank you to everyone for your reviews. You have no idea how much I love reading them, especially as they've all been so kind and so helpful. I hope this concluding chapter meets your (high) expectations, although I suspect people might not be happy with one aspect of it. I have left some issues deliberately inconclusive, because . . . well, life is never neat. There is no point at which everything is neatly concluded and all the characters live happily ever after. 

Thirdly, _Star of Love _is from the _Fushigi Yuugi_ OVA 2. It's a really beautiful song in its own right. The translation of it is mine, and differs in a few places from others that I've seen. Oh well. 

Fourthly, I have a vague idea for a sequel, but one that will be very different. It'll probably be about Takeru's trip to America and tackle racism. I don't promise I'll write it at all soon, because I'm focussing on other projects, but would people be interested in it? 

*

DANCING

EPILOGUE: STAR OF LOVE

*

_You are me - do not forget that._

_I am you - our love is one._

*

"I love this song," Hikari exclaimed, as the eerie, lonely sound of the opening bars of _Star of Love rose to fill the hall. She was sitting on a bench with Takeru beneath a painted cherry-tree, a glass of punch in her hand, her shoes kicked off in front of her. The hall had been decorated to look like a springtime park, and paper blossoms and butterflies floated around her. Tiny fairy lights twinkled overhead, "We're dancing to it." _

Setting her punch to one side, wriggling back into her sandals, she jumped to her feet and held out a hand to her husband, "Come on!"

Groaning, Takeru took it and let himself be pulled out into the centre of the room. They had been dancing for almost three hours without a break. It was just his luck that Hikari's favourite song would come on when he had finally convinced his wife to break for some punch. 

Nonetheless, most of his reluctance disappeared when Hikari slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body tightly against his. She had a mischievous smile on her lips, and her eyes sparkled. He felt his breath catch in his throat. He had known her for twelve years and been in love with her for nine of those, but it still stunned him how beautiful she was. The graceful way she carried her head, the curve of her neck and shoulder, the softness of her eyes, the determination of her jaw, the three freckles on her nose that she hated and he loved - there was something about her that made him feel happy and blessed and a little amazed. He bent his head to kiss her, but stopped short with a sharp shock, remembering they were in public. Warmth spread across his cheeks, "Sorry." (1)

Hikari laughed, "For what? Wanting to kiss me? I'd be mad if you didn't." 

"In public . . . ."

"Oh, I've already ruined my reputation tonight by coming in these clothes," she said cheerfully, "You might as well kiss me."

Genuinely shocked, "Hikari!" 

"I'm kidding," she stuck out her tongue at him, "I love how gullible you are. But then I love everything about you, so that's no surprise." 

"Back at you, angel." 

With a happy sigh, she snuggled her head beneath his chin and he wrapped his arms around her. Takeru could feel her heart beating against his chest, her breath warm on his neck. For the second time that day, he allowed himself to relax completely and to believe that maybe there was a chance for them. Maybe he would still be dancing with this woman in fifty years time. If history was a piece of music, maybe it was one that allowed for variations. Maybe it would allow him to write his own song with her.

They swayed in silence for a few moments, before he realised something: "Uh, Hikari, you do realise this is a fast song and we're slow dancing to it. . . ." 

"I know," she replied, "But I don't care." 

"Good, because nor do I." 

*

_The north wind is blowing lies, and the cooling night brings pain to your heart._

_But the dazzling, awesome cosmos won't surrender. Star._

_It is so sweet and painful that I am about to cry. _

_I love this moment._

_Now, I want to live for your sake as well. My heart becomes strong._

_The stars are shining. They have already awoken._

_Get past your tears._

_If I can bring happiness to only one person . . . _

_Sparkling to take_

_care of everything, _

_Star of Love._

*

Daisuke danced with a supple grace that surprised Miyako; his legs and arms moved in perfect time to the beat; his body swayed with the rhythm of the music. When he had asked her to the dance, she had anticipated a long night of him treading on her feet in all of the slow dances and being out of step in all of the fast. Instead, he had been the perfect partner, leading her easily around the floor, matching his movements to hers. She had said so to Hikari, who had laughed and said dancing was one of Daisuke's underappreciated talents. 

Half-ashamed, she thought she might not have appreciated Daisuke half as much as he deserved. He had not only been the perfect partner on the dance floor, but he had been the perfect date as well. He had brought her roses and a corsage to wear. He had not complained about going to see Takeru and Hikari, when she knew how hard it was for him to be around them. He had fetched her punch and carried her shawl. He had even made the hardest, most painful part of her evening bearable: her meeting with Ken and his new girlfriend.

For weeks, whenever she had closed her eyes, she had still been able to feel the heavy warmth of Ken's body against hers. She had still felt his hands on her skin, the brush of his hair against her cheeks, the softness of his lips on her own. And he had suddenly been standing a few feet away from her, an awkward smile on his face, an arm around another woman's waist. 

Takeru, perpetual peacemaker, had been the first to greet him, and Hikari had followed her husband's lead with a smile and a compliment for Ken's date. Daisuke had just nodded a curt greeting at his former best friend. She still didn't know what had happened between the two of them, but had the horrible suspicion it had something to do with their break-up. All he had said to her had been that he thought Ken had changed and not for the better. She hadn't trusted herself to speak; she had just stood there and stared at them and tried to force down the terrible feeling of loneliness. Then, Daisuke had put his hand on her back and led her out onto the dance floor. There, under the pretence of dancing, she had buried her head in his jacket and let herself cry. 

He had been a good friend to her during her break-up, she thought, and she was beginning to wonder if he couldn't be more to her. It had been months since she had broken up with Ken, and, although she knew she had not yet gotten over him completely, maybe it was time to take another step in that direction . . . . 

She looked up at him, her mind framing an invitation to dinner, and her heart gave a little skip in her chest. She had never thought of Daisuke as particularly handsome before, but she suddenly knew that was because she had never seen him properly. She had never noticed that his skin was the same colour as copper, that his aubergine hair was soft and sleek, that his mouth had a determined set to it. Or that he was watching her with a soft, uncertain expression in his eyes that could only be love. 

Tentatively, "Dai?" 

"Yes?" his eyes focussed, as he grinned at her. 

And she realised with a sea-sharp wash of pain that he had been looking past her and that the expression in his eyes had not been for her. She turned her head slightly to glance behind her, already knowing what she would see: Hikari and Takeru. They were slow dancing to some beat of their own, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around her. His eyes were closed and he had a half-smile on his face, like someone who knew he was loved. How could Daisuke see that and still hope that there was a chance for him with Hikari? Or maybe he had stopped hoping, but could not stop loving her? Either way, she knew there was no place for her in his heart at that moment.

Swallowing whatever she had been about to say, she gave him a weak smile, "It's nothing." 

*

_The greatest happiness and sorrow come as a result of seeking your beloved. _

_But, because I have to love you, my back tenses._

_This irritating, sweet treasure cannot break: Love. _

_I am also crushed by heart-breaking difficulties, but I won't run now._

_I feel proud that you appear to stand firm behind me for my sake as well. _

*

As the song launched into the last verse, Hikari looked up at her husband and a smile came to her lips. She had forgotten how happy Takeru could look. Unlike so many people his age, he had not lost the trick of being purely, simply happy; of having the sort of happiness children had before they realised the world was essentially unkind. With all that had happened in his life, she was surprised he could manage it so easily. It gave her hope that she could do the same. She could hardly believe she had thought of leaving him over a few bills and a miserable job she intended to quit the instant she had made enough to pay them. 

She had no illusions: she knew there would be difficult days ahead of them. She would have to get another job, and it would probably be as good as her current one. There would be rent to make and groceries to buy. There would be assignments they had to stay up all night to complete. There would be his trip to America, which would be hard on both of them. There would be fights between them. Fairytales only lasted a night. But, if she were very lucky, her relationship with this man could last a lifetime. If she worked at it, it would. 

"Takeru-chan, there was something I meant to say to you earlier," she began.

He opened his eyes to look at her, "Love, you don't need to say anything. You don't need to apologise again. Whatever happened between us . . . It's fine. We're fine." 

"It's not that," she shook her head, "It's . . . Thank you for buying me that dress. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and . . . and I should have thanked you for it much earlier." 

Takeru gave her a sweet, lopsided grin, "You're not the only one, angel. I should have said thank you for taking it back." 

*

_The stars are wishing, and are already set free._

_Get past the storms._

_As long as there is only one person for me to love, _

_tomorrow will be better than today._

_Sparkling_

_Star of Love._

*

The music played on.

The dance continued.

*

OWARI! 

*

NOTES:

1) Traditionally, you do not kiss in public in Japan. It's considered indecent. However, I should comment this is changing with the younger generation's exposure to Western values and culture. 


End file.
